The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  Chapter Nine

  The Officer’s gun moved on to the next victim, the barman.

  “Tell me everything you know right now,” the officer shouted, pinning his gun to the barman’s temple, “Where did they come from?”

  “I don’t fucking know!” the barman cried, defiantly staring up at his interrogator.

  The officer seemed less than impressed, pressuring the man for an answer by tapping the gun gently on the man’s eyebrow.

  “People who associate with terrorists are nothing but terrorists themselves,” the man paused for a few seconds before firing a shot straight into the barman’s face. Blood erupted from the entry wound and splattered all over the officer’s uniform. He grimaced, gently patting the stain with his fingers. He moved on to his next victim.

  Meanwhile, Jack was still staring through the pinprick hole in the wall, watching in crippling horror at the scene unfolding.

  “Two down,” Jack recounted the events back to Kyle and Anne.

  Neither of them responded.

  “Oh Vanessa,” the officer addressed the poor woman. “Your father would be so humiliated to learn of this.”

  “P-please, I didn’t k-know,” she begged, “I w-was here for a b-birthday p-p-party…”

  Gun by his side, the man pondered his predicament as if he were perusing a restaurant menu. Vanessa was sobbing her apologies, bent over as she retched from the stress.

  “Whose birthday?”

  “Anne… Anne Gilmore,” she gasped for breath.

  The officer signalled to one of his men, who immediately stepped forward, grabbed Vanessa by the arm and dragged her to her feet.

  “Clean her up, debrief her at the station and return her to her father. He will want to know everything.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Anne exhaled from behind Jack.

  But the gun’s grinning barrel immediately welcomed James’s bloodied head.

  “Now you,” the officer smiled dangerously, “You’re going to tell me all I need to know.”

  “No, sir,” James addressed the man with a trembling voice, “I don’t know anything.”

  “No? Are you sure about that?” the officer leaned in so that he was inches away from James’s face. “Funny how you look so familiar.”

  The courage scribbled across James’s face suddenly vanished.

  “Ah, Manchester,” the officer chuckled teasingly, “I never forget a face, especially when they kill two of my colleagues.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James stuttered, but it was too late: his cover was blown.

  “You, bring this one back with us - alive,” he clicked his fingers and one of his underlings stepped forward and dragged James to his feet.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ve got the wrong man!” he screamed, “I’ve never been to Manchester! Please, you have to believe me!”

  James’s cries echoed from the stairs, accompanied with the sounds of a desperate struggle.

  A pool of blood had formed around the two dead bodies and had trickled its way towards Euan’s knees. He was sobbing hysterically.

  It was only a matter of time before one of the officers spotted the booklet in his pocket. The guilt crawling in Jack’s insides was feral. He had marked the boy for death as soon as he dropped it into his pocket: he’d as good as pulled the trigger. Equally as he was revolted to watch, he could not tear himself away. It was as if he had to witness it - to watch his mistakes be played out before him as punishment. But even as he knew that he had to suffer to watch, he felt his hand sneak into his own pocket and take out the foil Kyle had given him earlier. It would end all his guilt and be only what he deserved. Death for the teenager killer.

  “What’s this?”

  Jack’s heart sank. One of the CRU officers bent down and took the yellow booklet from Euan’s pocket. He handed it to his superior.

  “Terrorism: Six Ways To Report It, how very deceptive,” he said, flicking through the pages.

  “What is that!” Euan shouted.

  “Oh, such a young boy,” the officer closed the book and smacked it down upon Euan’s head. “Don’t take me for a fucking fool.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “Didn’t you have a read?” the officer smirked, “It’s a fascinating tale of terrorism.”

  “Of what?” Euan looked visibly shocked, “No, that’s not mine!”

  “Get up,” the officer ordered.

  Euan scrambled to his feet. Someone else’s blood dripped down his side.

  “Sir, it’s not mine. I’d never harm anyone. I’m begging you. You have to believe me.”

  The officer toyed with the boy’s claims and Jack could almost see him visibly twirl his fate between his fingers. He relished every second of it. The master of death, the purveyor of fear.

  “Perhaps,” the man simpered, “But I never like to leave any witnesses.”

  The bullet ripped through the boy’s brain and rocketed through the back of his skull. As the boy crashed lifelessly to the ground, Jack’s knees buckled. Kyle caught his fall just in time.

  “Don’t move!” he whispered, dragging Jack away from the hole.

  Jack wished he could shout his guilt; perhaps then it might be liberated from his festering insides.

  “We have to leave,” Anne clasped her hand around Jack’s arm, “Quickly.”

  Tears were streaming down Jack’s cheeks and dropping like rain on to the filthy ground, he followed Anne through the darkness, caring little of where they were going. They climbed upwards over some cobbled steps until they reached a hatchet by which Anne had stopped.

  “It’s too dark for me to see anyone,” she whispered as her eye was pressed against a hole in the wooden door. “We might just have to run for it.”

  “Anne,” Kyle said, “We can’t risk that.”

  “We can’t wait here forever.”

  “No, but we need to think rationally.”

  “Rationally?” she snapped, “Three people have died down there - all because of us? Our fucking grand plans?”

  “I understand, but we need to wait. They can’t know about this tunnel. They just murdered the only person that did.”

  “It’s all about tactics with you,” Anne spat.

  “Calm down,” Kyle pleaded, “We can dissect it later. For now, we need to keep ourselves alive.”

  Instinctively, Jack placed a comforting hand on Anne’s. She gripped his tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “They’ve murdered too many of my friends.”

  “And too many of mine,” Jack said, “But Kyle’s right. We need to focus on saving ourselves. We can’t carry the weight of the dead as well.”

  In the soft moonlight that spilled through the gaps in the hatchet, Anne nodded and her tears trickled down her face like silk.

  “What do we do? They’ll be crawling all over this place for hours. I think we’re round the back of the building - there’s a chance we can escape down the hill and hide out in the trees until they are gone?”

  Jack swooped round to see Kyle’s reaction. He was in deep concentration. As far as Jack was concerned it wasn’t a bad plan, but it still wasn’t entirely secure. For all they knew, there would be CRU officers posted all around the perimeter.

  “We’ll give it a few minutes,” Kyle said.

  “But it looks clear now - we might not have the same opportunity in five minutes!” Anne whispered sharply. “They’re too fucking preoccupied with clearing up the dead bodies of our friends down there and rounding up the rest of them. They don’t know about this passageway. They won’t be looking for us.”

  “Fine!” Kyle snapped, “Let’s do it. Keep as low to the ground as possible, but get to the slope quickly. Once you’re there crawl down, we can’t risk attracting attention.”

  Anne was already unlocking the hatchet. Jack’s heartbeat was thumping erratically. They were blind on either side of them. CRU officers could be lying in waiting. Who
knew how far their voices had travelled.

  The cool of the night swirled around them like a mist. Through a thicket of cloud the mighty mountain ruled above, as three tiny figures in its shadows crept out across the ivory night; each believing their heartbeat was one of their last; each bearing the burden of the guilty living, forever those who had escaped where their friends had not.

  Jack felt far too exposed. Wherever he looked, he could feel piercing eyes digging into the back of his neck. In either direction lay cold, unforgiving isolation. The trees whipped with the wind whilst rain lashed down from the heavens. It was with lightning relief that they reached the far slope before they heard a voice carrying in the dark.

  “Fucking bastards,” the woman’s voice said, “When are the killings going to stop? I can’t fucking believe they murdered the poor people in there!”

  Anne and Jack exchanged looks at each other. He patted her gently on the arm.

  “Sooner we can wipe these terrorists out the better,” the woman continued, her voice was so loud she might have been yards above them.

  They clung to the gradient of the slope like barnacles on a ship. Every foul word that slipped out from the CRU officer’s mouth incensed the three of them. After everything Jack had just witnessed, he wanted to tear apart the woman. He could see it now more than ever. It was no longer a retrospective realisation, but a very real understanding of who was ruling the country. These officers with their loaded guns, wielding their authority around like a mace, were the real terrorists. They were the real enemy.

  At long last the woman and her silent colleague departed. They heard the soft thudding footsteps disappear into obscurity: it was their signal to leave. Partially sliding down, grabbing on to occasional protruding rocks and branches, they eventually made it to the tree line below, taking shelter behind a large clump of bushes.

  Slumping against the bough of a birch tree, Jack caught his breath, which he had been endeavouring to hold ever since they left the relative safety of the tunnel. Though relieved that they had made it to safety, Jack was filled with an indefinable dread.

  Anne was crouched down by another tree, wiping the mud from her knees. The whites of her eyes penetrated the darkness and stared emphatically at Kyle, who responded with a keen silence.

  “What if he talks?” Anne asked, struggling to contain her voice.

  “He won’t,” Kyle retorted before Anne’s lips had even closed.

  “You can’t know that,” she snapped, “If he talks then we’re fucked.”

  “Look at where we are, Anne! Do you honestly think we’re not fucked right now?”

  “Stop it!” Jack intervened, “Stop it! Three people are dead because of us. We might be fucked, but we’re still goddam alive. Be fucking grateful that Anne had the sense to get us out of there because I didn’t fucking see you trying to help anyone escape up there!”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Kyle leaned forward to strike, but stopped himself just in time.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just angry…”

  “I understand,” Kyle said, “I’m sorry I brought you into this.”

  Shaking his head, Jack protested, “No, don’t be sorry. It isn’t your fault.”

  “Guys,” Anne whispered, pointing into the distance, “We need to get out of here.”

  Two torchlights were slithering through the trees towards them.

  Both of the men rounded on Anne for direction.

  “We need to head back into the town,” Anne said, “We can head back to mine, my car should still be in the driveway…”

  “No, fucksake, Anne - you can’t ever go back to your house. Anne died in that fucking Inn. We head into town and grab the first car we see,” Kyle ushered them to their feet.

  “How far is it to town?” Jack asked.

  “About a mile,” Anne said, looking at Kyle with deep resentment, “We need to run. Now.”

  Never before had Jack’s heart raced so much. They didn’t look back to see if the torchlights were hounding them, but they didn’t need to - they ran as if the flashlights were tracing their backs. The terrain was treacherous. Fallen branches and boulders littered the ground, and as the rain cascaded down, the mud became intolerable. Still, the abundance of heather helped to keep a grip as they sped along the bottom of the ravine, following the river back into town. Above them the road contoured the hill and there was no way of knowing how many CRU officers patrolled the area.

  Finally, the river glistened with an amber hue as it swerved inwards toward the hill. They spotted a solitary streetlamp on their side of the river and hastened their pace. No longer did Jack’s muscles ache and groan, but as he ran with all the fury he could muster, he realised that Kyle had been right all along. Training was but a game to this. He wanted to return to HQ, to the comfort of the bed he’d inhabited for the past five months. However, he always longed to continue the fight. His flame had just been alighted and he was determined for it to keep on burning, instead of withering out to a pathetic dying ember.

  They reached the tarmac road unscathed, finally catching a glimpse behind them to confirm that no one was on their tail.

  “How the fuck did we manage that?” Anne panted, bent over with exhaustion.

  “Fuck knows, but we need to keep moving,” Kyle instructed, carrying on jogging down the road.

  “Do you know where we are?” Jack hung back to wait for Anne.

  “The outskirts of town, if we follow this road we should come across a more residential area pretty soon,” she said, hopping onto her feet and catching up with Kyle.

  Within five minutes they passed a rundown football pitch on their right and ahead they spotted the row of houses that Anne had promised. Slowing their pace to a brisk walk, they took stock of their situation together and it was only in the tungsten street light that Jack appreciated what Anne had been wearing all this time.

  Her dress was ripped and ruined. Mud stained and torn. Her hair dangled around her face, sticky with sweat and wrinkled with the sediment from the tunnel.

  “Are you alright?” Jack asked her.

  “Yep,” she said dismissively in a tone that reeked of negativity.

  “That one, over there,” Kyle pointed down the road at a car parked on the side.

  Anne nodded and marched forward, stopping by the car to discreetly smash in its side windows, open the door and get in. The alarm was on for a matter of seconds before she mastered control and shut it off. Through the windscreen she beckoned them to come forwards.

  “Jack, get in the front,” Kyle ordered.

  He obliged, grateful for the chance to rest his feet.

  Inside was plastered with the owner’s memorabilia: from CDs, old bottles of water and photographs of their children.

  Kyle leaned in through Anne’s window, “Do you know a safe route out of Fort William?”

  Anne nodded, “There’s a road over that hill over there, completely bypasses any of the main routes out of town. We won’t be spotted.”

  “Good. Keep driving until Curfew, then pull over completely off road until dawn. Then make your way down to England. Glasgow’s too risky. Head to a safe house near Carlisle or even Newcastle. Further South if you can make it. Here’s some money for petrol and supplies. It should be enough,” he slipped several notes to her.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Jack’s chest was heavy with disappointment.

  Kyle shook his head, “We can’t risk all three of us getting caught. I’ll be in contact in time. Good luck.”

  He patted the side of the car and Anne started the engine. Jack stared through the windscreen at his friend, who stepped back off the road to allow them to turn.

  Jack wasn’t prepared for this. When he woke this morning he had not anticipated being parted from Kyle in such a way. He wasn’t returning home. There would be no more soft, comforting duvet over him. The buzz from HQ’s dining area wouldn’t be filtering through the ajar dormitory door. Emma wasn’t going to wake him with her unrest
rained sarcasm. When was he going to see Kyle again? When was he going to see any of his friends again? The uncertainty was tantamount. He had nothing to grasp on to for familiarity. He was alone. Alone in a car with a woman he’d met only hours previously, but to whom he would be entrusting his life with.

  “I can’t guarantee there won’t be patrols as we head out of town, but we’re going to be taking a slightly unknown route. Best keep an eye out regardless. Can you check to your left and behind and I’ll keep my eyes on the road ahead and to the right?” she ordered.

  “But I don’t -”

  “Just do it. Fucking do it,” she barked at him, “Ten more minutes of hell and we’ll be out the other fucking side. Just keep calm and fucking do as I say.”

  Slithering down into the valley, Jack kept a vigilant eye on the side mirror and swept surveillant glances down the adjacent roads. There were no patrol cars. Not even the Nightstalkers were shadowing the streets. It was peaceful. Christmas lights twinkled from many gardens. Tinsel and decorated trees were a feature in every home. The warm inviting fires inside betrayed any chaos that they’d left behind in the Ben Nevis Inn. To the families warming their toes by the wood burning flame, no one had been mercilessly murdered; a boy had not been killed at point blank range.

  They turned a sudden right, with Anne hitting accelerate slightly harder than she had been doing. The road contoured the hill and rose up high above the rest of the town. From Jack’s window, he could make out the faint blockade on the main road.

  “You were right,” Jack said, “The CRU are down there.”

  “Another five minutes and we’re clear,” she said, flicking off the headlights as they passed the final streetlamp.